Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English | NEW
Synopsis
"Fifty bucks to rent out a ten-million-dollar luxury hot spring retreat?
With prime A5 Wagyu and black truffles included? And if I refuse, it means I 'lack team spirit'?"
Staring at my supervisor's tag on WhatsApp, I let out a dry, bitter laugh.
My manager, Stacy, wanted to suck up to our newly hired director, Julian. So she took it upon herself to volunteer "my family's" luxury spa estate for a thirty-person team retreat.
The problem was, my parents just ran a rundown, budget motel down the road.
That ultra-luxurious private estate belonged to Scott Sterling, a ruthless, ultra-wealthy tycoon who owned half the city's logistics and real estate.
I said no immediately. In return, the entire office labeled me selfish, petty, and ungrateful.
They even started a sign-up sheet, bringing spouses, kids, and pets. Over forty people piled into a chartered bus and stormed right up to the private gates.
Fine. If they had a death wish, I was more than happy to let them dig their own graves.
"Fifty bucks to rent out a ten-million-dollar luxury hot spring retreat?
With prime A5 Wagyu and black truffles included? And if I refuse, it means I 'lack team spirit'?"
Staring at my supervisor's tag on WhatsApp, I let out a dry, bitter laugh.
The glare from my phone screen made my eyes ache.
Stacy's message sat pinned at the top.
Underneath, a flood of "+1"s rolled in, followed by comments praising me: "Chloe is the best!" and "Chloe, you're a lifesaver!"
I took a deep breath. Did they seriously take me for a fool?
Stacy was the kind of person who wouldn't even buy you a cup of coffee. But now, eager to flatter Julian, the newly imported director, she had thrown me right under the bus.
During last week's staff meeting, Julian had casually mentioned, "That private estate up on Pine Ridge looks incredible."
Stacy jumped on it right then and there. "Chloe's family is from up there! She'll set it up."
I told her on the spot that the estate wasn't mine.
She had nodded with a sweet, patronizing smile, only to pull this stunt in the group chat.
"Stacy, I'm saying this for the very last time," I typed, my fingers trembling with frustration.
"My parents own the Pine Rest Motel at the foot of Pine Ridge. It's twenty-five bucks a night, and hot water shuts off after 9 PM.
The estate is called Cloud Crest Manor. It belongs to Scott Sterling, and my family has absolutely nothing to do with it."
The chat went dead silent for three whole seconds.
Then it exploded.
"Come on, Chloe, don't be such a buzzkill. Everyone was looking forward to it."
"Seriously. Stacy already said yes for you, and now you're backing out?"
"You just don't want to spend money on us. Why make up excuses?"
Stacy replied instantly:
"Chloe, that's not how you behave in a company. We treat you well here. Last month when you took three days off, I didn't even dock your attendance bonus."
I glared at the screen, my temples pounding.
Last month, I had a 102-degree fever, and she forced me to revise pitch decks remotely until two in the morning.
Didn't dock my bonus?
That was because my contract didn't even include an attendance bonus!
Linda from HR stepped in to play peacemaker: "Chloe, how about this? Everyone chips in twenty bucks, and you just cover whatever's left over."
"Linda, it's not about the money." I gripped my phone tightly. "The place isn't..."
Julian suddenly dropped a voice note into the chat.
I tapped it. His voice was smooth and gentle:
"Chloe, I proposed this retreat to bring the team closer together.
If there's any difficulty, feel free to talk to me privately."
The chat went wild immediately: "The director is so sweet," "Chloe, say something," "Don't let Julian down."
Listening to Julian's calm voice, I sneered inwardly.
He'd been at the company for three months. He hadn't landed a single major client, but his ego was massive.
Stacy ran circles around him like an obedient puppy, ready to serve up the entire department just to win his favor.
And today, I was the sacrifice.
"Julian," I pressed the mic button, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
"Cloud Crest Manor is a private residence owned by Scott Sterling. He controls local shipping and commercial developments.
My parents' motel is down a back alley, three hundred yards away.
How about this? I'll host a backyard barbecue at my family's motel this weekend. It's small, but we have enough lawn chairs."
Once the voice message went through, silence followed.
Then Toby from Product dropped a message:
"Wait, barbecue at a roadside motel? Are we going on a retreat or surviving a boot camp?"
Leo from Design chimed in:
"Chloe, your family lives right there. There's no way you don't know the staff at the manor. Just ask for a small favor."
"Yeah, just say you're a relative of the owner. We'll just take some photos and leave."
"Even if we can't use the hot springs, hanging out in the private garden would be amazing."
I read their texts, my thumbs hovering in the air.
Did they have any idea how much it cost to rent that estate for one night? Fifteen grand minimum, not including catering. Did they know who Scott Sterling was?
He built a freight empire from scratch. Both the police and local syndicates gave him wide berth. Last year, an influencer sneaked onto his property to film TikToks; his security guards tossed her out and smashed her phone to pieces.
Stacy knew this. Just last week, she claimed, "Only someone with Julian's class deserves a place like that."
And now she wanted me—the daughter of a budget motel owner—to march up to Scott Sterling and ask him for private access, Wagyu beef, and black truffles for fifty bucks?
"Chloe, it's settled," Stacy announced in a final notice. "Julian rarely joins us for team events.”
“ Don't ruin the mood. Send me the booking confirmation before five on Friday. Oh, and the director prefers A5 Wagyu and fresh black truffles. Make sure it's arranged."I didn't reply.
Instead, I muted the notification and left the chat.
My phone rang within seconds—Stacy calling.
I didn't answer. I placed the phone facedown on my desk, got up, and walked into the restroom.
Splashing cold water onto my face, I looked at myself in the mirror.
A twenty-four-year-old girl with dark circles under her eyes, wearing a gray hoodie and hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
I had graduated a year and a half ago, making $3,500 a month doing social media marketing. Rent was $1,200, and I sent $800 home every month.
My parents ran the budget motel. Business was slow; during peak season, they barely filled seven or eight rooms a night.
They had bought the land years ago because it was cheap, never imagining someone would build a private paradise like Cloud Crest Manor next door.
I grabbed a paper towel and patted my face dry.
My phone vibrated again. Someone had already added me back to the WhatsApp group.
Stacy had posted a screenshot of a picture I shared on SnapChat last month—a photo of my parents' backyard with the caption, Not a bad view outside the front door.
Stacy tagged me: "Doesn't this look lovely? This is the spot. Everyone remember to pack your swimsuits!"
Underneath, someone asked, "Stacy, the yard looks kind of tiny. Can thirty people even fit?"
"We'll squeeze. Chloe said it's fine."
"What about the hot springs? Weren't there supposed to be hot springs?"
"The manor is right next door. Chloe can work something out. We're all family here."
Family.
Looking at that word, I let out a dry laugh.
When my mom was hospitalized last month and I asked Stacy for a small advance on my paycheck, she told me, "We're a business, Chloe, not a charity."
When my dad called her, begging for a few days' extension on a work invoice because the manor's private security had knocked down our motel sign for "blocking their private road," nobody called us family then.
Back then, nobody was family.
I closed WhatsApp, opened SnapChat, and found a contact.
"Mr. Sterling, sorry to bother you. There's something I need to give you a heads-up about."
He replied almost immediately: "Go on."
I sent him the screenshots and added:
"They're coming this Friday afternoon. I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen. I wanted to let you know ahead of time. I'm sorry for the trouble."
A thirty-second silence followed before he sent back two words: "Understood."
Looking at those two words, a sense of relief washed over me.
Scott Sterling was a man of few words, but he dealt with things swiftly and ruthlessly.
Our motel shared a narrow back alley with his estate. Last winter, our main pipe froze and burst, spilling water into his estate's back gate.
Instead of suing us, he sent his private crew to fix it without charging a dime. Afterward, my mom sent over two baskets of fresh farm eggs. He accepted them and had his assistant tell her, "Mr. Sterling says thank you, ma'am."
We weren't close, but I knew one thing: he despised trespassers.
And that was more than enough.
At two o'clock on Friday afternoon, while I was still editing copy at my desk, Stacy clapped her hands loudly.
"Time to go! The chartered bus is waiting downstairs!"
I looked up. "Stacy, I'm not going. I still have a project to finish—"
"Save it, Chloe."
Stacy strutted over in her kitten heels, her manicured nails tapping impatiently on my desk. "You're the host. If you don't go, who will? Hurry up, don't keep everyone waiting."
Her heavy floral perfume made me want to gag.
"Stacy, that estate doesn't belong to me."
"Oh, stop the act already." She rolled her eyes. "Julian is already on the bus. Are you really going to make him wait?"
I glanced out the window. Sure enough, a fifty-three-seater coach was parked outside. Coworkers were streaming out with duffel bags, and a few even had leashed dogs.
If I remembered correctly, the sign-up list had reached forty-seven people, along with five dogs and three cats.
"Fine," I said, locking my computer. "I'll go."
Stacy finally broke into a triumphant smile. "That's more like it. Show some team spirit."The bus was chaotic.
Someone brought a Bluetooth speaker blasting party music, someone brought a cooler full of beer, and pet carriers were shoved into the aisle.
Julian sat in the first row, wearing a crisp light-blue blazer, his hair styled to perfection. When I stepped onboard, he gave me an approving nod.
"Chloe, thanks for setting this up today."
"Don't thank me yet," I replied evenly. "You'll see soon enough."
He blinked, clearly missing the warning in my voice.
After a forty-minute drive, we reached the foot of Pine Ridge.
The city skyline faded into low-rise cottages, then dense pine forests.
As we rounded the final curve, the stone gatehouse of Cloud Crest Manor loomed into view.
Charcoal slate tiles, whitewashed walls, and heavy wrought-iron gates flanked by carved stone pillars.
Towering oak and sweet osmanthus trees peeked over the high wall, showing glimpses of traditional pavilion roofs.
The bus erupted.
"Holy shit! This looks way more insane in person!"
"Chloe, you kept this hidden? Living here and pretending to be broke?"
"Open the gates! I'm jumping in the pool right now!"
The coach pulled into the private, tree-lined driveway. My coworkers poured out, phones in hand, snapping photos left and right.
Stacy stepped off the bus, admiring the massive arched entrance, unable to contain her grin.
"Julian, what do you think? Good enough for you?"
Julian nodded slowly, a smug curve on his lips. "Very impressive."
Stacy turned and barked at me, "Chloe, open the gates!"
I stood by the bus door, arms folded.
"Stacy," I said loudly, "I'm telling you for the last time. This is not my house."
Stacy's face darkened. "Chloe, we're literally standing at the front door. Stop playing games—"
Before she could finish, the iron gates creaked open.
Not just a crack—both heavy leaves swung wide open with a deep, echoing groan.
Four men walked out.
Leading them was a man in his forties with a military buzz cut, dressed in a sharp black jacket, his face an emotionless mask.
Behind him were three muscular men in matching black crewnecks, looking like they spent every waking hour in a combat gym.
The crowd instantly fell silent.
Stacy's smile froze, and she instinctively took a half-step behind Julian.
The buzz-cut man walked straight up to me and nodded respectfully. "Miss Vance."
"Ray," I said, nodding back. "Is Mr. Sterling around?"
"Mr. Sterling is waiting for you in the courtyard." His cold gaze swept over the bus and the chaotic crowd. "And who are these people?"
"Colleagues from my company," I replied. "They're here for a team retreat."
Ray glanced at me, a flicker of amusement passing through his eyes.
He tilted his chin toward the men behind him.
The three men in black moved instantly, fanning out around the chartered bus. Each pulled out a heavy tactical baton, standing with their hands behind their backs, dead-eyed and unmoving.
Someone gasped.
Stacy's face went completely pale.
Julian's expression soured, but clinging to his managerial authority, he cleared his throat:
"Excuse me, sir. We are Chloe's colleagues. We came here because—"
"Miss Vance," Ray cut him off cleanly, turning only to me, "Mr. Sterling instructed that you may enter. As for the rest of them—"
He paused, his eyes landing on the coworkers holding leashed dogs.
"Pets are strictly prohibited. Furthermore," he pulled a folded laminated document from his pocket, "trespassing on private property is a criminal offense."
He held it up for everyone to see.
"Our perimeter is monitored by high-definition cameras and an integrated alarm system," Ray said, his tone flat and icy.
"If any of you attempts to force your way in, I strongly suggest you look up who Scott Sterling is first. In this city, nobody enters his estate uninvited."The air froze.
One of the dogs let out a sharp bark, startlingly loud in the dead silence.
A female coworker shrieked, stumbling backward in her heels and nearly wiping out on the stone pavement.
Stacy's face turned from pale to crimson. Her lips trembled for several seconds before she finally choked out:
"Chloe, what... what is the meaning of this?"
I looked at her, then glanced at Julian, whose face had gone completely dark.
"Stacy," I said calmly, "I told you three times last week that this wasn't my house.”
“You insisted on coming anyway. I couldn't stop you from boarding the bus, but you can't stop the actual owner from throwing you out, can you?"
"You!" Stacy pointed a shaking finger at me. "If you knew this would happen, why didn't you explain it clearly?!"
"I did. Before you even drafted the invite, I said no. It's all in the chat logs. You told me I lacked team spirit."
Stacy was struck dumb. Whispers broke out among the staff.
"Wait... this really belongs to someone else?"
"Damn, so Chloe was telling the truth the whole time..."
"What do we do now? We drove all the way out here..."
Julian's composure had completely cracked.
He glared at me, the suave demeanor completely gone.
"Chloe, even if that's the case, why didn't you coordinate with Stacy beforehand? Leaving your entire team stranded outside—do you think that's professional?"
"Julian," I met his gaze, "I communicated with her three times. Once in the meeting, once in the group chat, and once in a private message. She told me not to ruin the fun. Tell me, how else was I supposed to communicate?"
Julian choked on his words.
Stacy was practically vibrating with rage. "Chloe! Watch your tone! Is that how you talk to our director?!"
"Stacy," I turned to her, "my tone is more than generous. I didn't call the cops, I didn't have their security drag you off, and I gave the property owner a heads-up.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of temper Scott Sterling has? Last month, some rich kid blocked his private gate with a sports car. The car was towed and crushed, and the kid spent a week in holding."
Stacy went dead silent.
Several coworkers were already backing away, quietly tugging their friends toward the coach.
Julian stood rigid, his shoulders tight, but his polished facade was crumbling by the second.
Ray watched the scene, then turned back to me.
"Miss Vance, Mr. Sterling is waiting. If you're finished here, please follow me inside."
I nodded, took two steps forward, and then paused to look over my shoulder.
"Oh, by the way, Stacy," I added pleasantly, "my parents' motel is right down the alley.”
“ Twenty-five bucks a night, hot water runs until nine. If you guys have nowhere to go, feel free to support our small family business. After all... team spirit, right?"
Stacy's face turned the color of an overcooked beet.
I didn't spare her another glance and walked through the gates behind Ray.
Behind me, Julian's suppressed roar echoed across the driveway: "Everyone on the bus! Get back on the damn bus! Haven't you embarrassed yourselves enough?!"
The heavy iron gates clanged shut, locking the noise outside.
The courtyard was completely tranquil. The air was thick with the sweet, rich fragrance of blooming osmanthus trees lining the stone walkway.
Ray led me past a massive stone screen and through a circular archway.
A three-story villa stood by a steaming outdoor thermal pool, petals floating across the clear water.
On a lounge chair by the edge sat a man.
In his early thirties, dressed in a charcoal lounge set, he was looking down at his phone. Hearing our footsteps, he raised his head.
Scott Sterling had sharp, chiseled features, a strong jawline, and dark hair carelessly swept back.
When he wasn't smiling, he looked dangerously aloof. But right now, the corner of his mouth was curled in amusement, as if he had just witnessed a fun comedy show.
"Here already?" He set down his phone. "Are your coworkers still outside?"
"They're leaving," I said, stopping a few feet away. "Mr. Sterling, thank you. I'm sorry for causing you trouble today."
"Trouble?" He picked up a porcelain cup and took a sip. "Not at all. It was entertaining."
I took out my phone and checked WhatsApp—specifically, the chat where I was still lurking before they kicked me.
Stacy had posted an update: Today's retreat is canceled due to bad weather. Everyone head home.
Someone immediately replied: Stacy, the forecast says clear skies and 75 degrees?
Stacy didn't answer.
Another coworker asked: Wait, what about Chloe? Why did she go inside with those guys?
She climbed the social ladder, obviously, Toby chimed in. Unbelievable. Pretending to be an innocent nobody this whole time.
Looking at Toby's text, my lips curled into a smirk.
Scott noticed. "Something funny?"
"Nothing," I said, putting my phone away. "Just my coworkers running their mouths."
He hummed noncommittally and gestured toward the stone bench across from him. "Sit. The osmanthus is blooming. It's the best time for tea."
I sat down. The stone seat was cool, but the warm mist rising from the pool brushed over my face.
"Mr. Sterling," I said, "I really appreciate it. If you hadn't sent Ray out, they would've forced their way onto the property."
"Don't mention it." Scott poured a cup of osmanthus oolong tea and slid it across the table. "You gave me fair warning, so I was prepared. Though..."
He looked at me, a hint of curiosity in his dark eyes.
"How much do they pay you at that firm?"
I paused. "About... thirty-five hundred a month."
He nodded slowly. "Thirty-five hundred. And you take that kind of disrespect for thirty-five hundred?"I didn't answer right away. I picked up the cup and took a sip. The tea was warm, floral, and subtly sweet.
"Chloe," Scott said, turning his phone toward me. "Take a look at this."
On the screen was a message from a contact named "Julian Vance":
Mr. Sterling, today was a complete misunderstanding. My team acted out of turn. Please don't take it to heart.
Scott had replied with a simple: K.
Julian had sent another text right after: I'd like to visit you next Tuesday to apologize in person.
Scott hadn't replied.
I stared at Julian's name on the screen.
"Your director," Scott said, taking his phone back, "tried to reach me through connections last week, begging for an investment meeting.”
“I ignored him. He thought he could use your 'family connections' to sneak his way into my house today."
He gave a dry chuckle.
"He never imagined you genuinely had no connection to me."
A long breath left my chest.
So that was it.
Julian's eagerness to join the retreat, Stacy's aggressive push—it wasn't just workplace sucking up.
Julian wanted to use me as a backdoor to get an audience with Scott Sterling.
He thought I was some secret heiress or relative of Scott's.
And it turned out my parents just ran a cheap roadside motel.
"So," I looked at Scott, "you stepped in today not just to help me, but to put him in his place."
"Help you?" Scott set his cup down. "Partly. Mostly because he annoys me. He sent over two cases of vintage scotch last week; I had my guys dump them on his porch. Yet he still keeps trying."
He stood up and walked toward the edge of the steaming pool.
"How's business at your parents' motel lately?"
"Slow," I answered honestly. "Off-season. If we fill three rooms a night, it's considered good."
"The main road is having its drainage redone this week. When they finish, I'll have them put up a new directional sign pointing straight to your parents' driveway from the highway."
I blinked in surprise. "Mr. Sterling, you really don't have to—"
"Save the politeness." He glanced back, a faint glimmer of warmth in his eyes. "The farm eggs your mother sent over were delicious."
I parted my lips, wanting to say something, but words failed me.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out. Julian had created a new three-person WhatsApp chat: him, Stacy, and me.
Julian texted: Chloe, I'll let today slide for now. But remember, as an employee, your behavior represents the company.
You clearly know Scott Sterling. Next Tuesday, you're accompanying me to his estate to clear up this misunderstanding.
Staring at his text, I burst out laughing.
Julian, I typed back, I don't 'know' Mr. Sterling. I begged for a neighborly favor today, and he was polite enough to help. You want me to bring you there? On what grounds?
Didn't you just walk right into his villa? And you still claim you don't know him? Stacy snapped.
He let me in for a cup of tea because of two dozen farm eggs my mom gave him, I replied. Stacy, why don't you try sending him some eggs and see what happens?
Stacy went quiet.
Julian finally sent an ultimatum: Chloe, think carefully. Either bring your resignation letter on Monday morning, or come with me to see Mr. Sterling on Tuesday. The choice is yours.
Chapters (5)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Watch & Promotions
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